Tired
by LovinFace
Summary: Post Sweet Revenge. A moment in time from Hutch POV and then Starsky POV.


Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

Feedback: I'd love to hear from you.

Tired  
By LovinFace

**Hutch:**

I am so tired. Not the "I can't take another step" tired, but the "bone weary just want to lay down and make the world go away" tired. It's been a rough couple of months since Starsky was shot by Gunther's men. James Marshall Gunther, one of the most powerful men in the world. A man now sitting in jail awaiting trial for murder, attempted murder, and any other charge I could think of.

I still remember that day. When I rounded the corner of the Torino and saw Starsky lying there in an expanding pool of blood, his head resting against the wheel…it literally took my breath away. I stood there in shock. Seconds later, other policemen were trying to save his life. I just stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then Captain Dobey was there and all I remember is him telling me to hold Starsky's hand, let him know I'm there.

So I did. I held his cold, pale, lifeless hand. But that's all I could do. There was so much blood. Starsky's blood was everywhere. It saturated his shirt and jacket. It was on the pavement, on the hands of the policeman performing CPR. Blood was everywhere except on me. I didn't have a drop on me, a testament to the fact that I had done nothing for my partner. The paramedics arrived and I was pushed aside. I watched as they cut his shirt open and tried desperately to stop the bleeding, tried to start IVs, and then finally put him on a stretcher and took him away.

Starsky had nearly died that day, and in fact he _did_ die the next day, but miraculously he had come back and had been fighting hard to recover ever since. And now he was finally home. Of course I had to move in with him. If I didn't, he'd just overdo and end up back in the hospital. He always pushes himself too hard.

I'm too tense to sleep. Today's physical therapy session was pretty intense and Starsk has been in a lot of pain. Pain that he has to go through because I wasn't paying attention. I walked by that police car. Two guys sitting inside. Just sitting. I bet the guns were even in plain view. Then when the car pulled out, I hit the ground facedown, and they shot Starsky. I was hiding behind that god-awful car, and Starsky had been shot with an automatic weapon.

Those memories plague me every night, especially in the quiet hours when Starsky is asleep. I decide to check on my partner, make sure he's okay. He seems to be asleep, but his head is turning from side to side. His mouth is moving, but there is no voice. I try to calm him without waking him up by placing my hand on his shoulder. He starts to mumble, and I decide I better wake him up. If he has a nightmare and thrashes about, he could cause harm to his still-healing body.

"Hey, Starsk, you okay?"

Starsky slowly opens his eyes, searching for something. I decide to try again.

"Hey Buddy, you okay? Can I get you anything?"

Starsky shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Musta been dreaming. Sorry if I bothered you. I'm going back to sleep now, okay?"

"Sure. Call me if you need anything, okay?" I pat his shoulder, about the only place that doesn't hurt him.

Starsky smiles weakly and then closes his eyes. I stand there, watching him drift off to sleep. I still can't believe he's here. I was so sure he was going to die. And even now, knowing he's survived, I don't feel as though I can leave him. I've got to watch out for everything. I can't fail him again.

I hear a faint rumble of thunder and remember that we left the car windows down after today's trip to the physical therapist. I open the front door and step out onto the landing. The sky is overcast and the wind smells of rain. I rush down to the Torino and roll up the windows just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Then I just stand there against the Torino and the emotions that I've had locked up for the last couple of months decide to erupt. I stand there awhile, raindrops mixing with tears.

I finally go back into the apartment, sloshing with every step. Starsky's on the couch, trying to adjust the cover over his legs, grimacing as he stretches his arms too far. I told you he tries to do too much. I snag the cover from my stubborn partner.

"Let me do that," I say.

Starsky hesitantly relinquishes his hold on the multicolored blanket and sits silently as I tuck it around him.

"You better change, Hutch. You're gonna catch pneumonia if you stay in those wet clothes," Starsky scolded. His eyes lock with mine. He knows. I look away embarrassed. He's been through so much without shedding a tear…and here I've been crying like a baby.

"I'm going to change out of these clothes. I'll be back in a bit." I turn toward the bathroom, picking up the overstuffed duffle bag that's just outside the bathroom door.

"Hutch." A whisper.

I turn around, the bag forgotten. "Yeah, Buddy?"

I still don't want to look at him. He has a way of disarming me like no one else can just by looking at me with those cobalt blue eyes of his.

"It's going to be okay."

Now I have to look at him.

"We're going to be okay." Starsky said, then yawned.

I know that trip from the bedroom to the living room has probably sapped what little energy he had, and another wave of guilt slammed into me. Starsky is one of those guys who is literally action defined. At least he was.

I smile at him. Maybe he'll think I really believe that we're going to be okay. But honestly, I don't know.

"Yeah, Starsk. I know. Look, why don't you get some rest? I'm going to put on some dry clothes."

His eyes are closed, and he's asleep. I stoop again, picking up the duffle bag and heading toward the bathroom. God, I'm so tired.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Starsky:**

"_Starsky! Get down!" _

_Gunshots, burning pain._

_Blood. Blood everywhere._

_I need air. I can't breathe. _

_Hutch! Help me!_

_"We've lost him."_

_"Stand clear."_

_I'm so scared. Hutch! Help me!_

"Hey Buddy, you okay? Can I get you anything?"

I open my eyes slowly and see Hutch leaning over me. Great. Another nightmare. Hutch is looking at me with, I don't know, pity or something. I hate that. I mean I really _hate _that.

"No, I'm okay. Musta been dreaming. Sorry if I bothered you. I'm going back to sleep now, okay?" Please leave, Hutch. Please, please, please. I don't like you seeing me this way. Feel like a damned child. I can't believe this happened. It's my own damned fault…if I had been paying attention instead of gloating about my win in that stupid ping- pong game…

He pats my shoulder, almost like he's afraid to touch me. "Sure. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

I just smile and then close my eyes. Leave, leave, leaveI don't hear anything, but I know he's still in the room. I can feel it. After a few minutes, he finally leaves.

I hear thunder outside. The front door opens and then closes. After a couple of minutes I hear the sound of raindrops hitting the window. I can't sleep, so I decide to go to the living room. Maybe I can catch an old movie on TV or something. I need something to get my mind off of everything. I push myself up out of bed…that's gonna piss Hutch off because he's always telling me I push too hard. But I don't see anything wrong with walking into the living room. I'm not a damned invalid you know.

I fall against the couch, and I'll admit it wasn't the smartest thing I've done. Okay, it hurts like hell, so I bite my bottom lip and decide to ride out the pain spasm. I feel a chill in the air and reach for my blanket to try and cover up.

Hutch walks in at that moment, completely soaked.

"You better change, Hutch. You're gonna catch pneumonia if you stay in those wet clothes." God, I sound like a mother hen. Normally that's his department.

I look at my partner. His eyes are red and puffy, and I realize that he's been crying. He's been crying in the rain, hoping I won't notice. He looks away from me, embarrassed. If he only knew how many times I've cried since this happened.

"I'm going to change out of these clothes. I'll be back in a bit." Hutch turns to leave, shoulders slumped, drops of water dripping from his hair.

In that moment, I realize that while I had been blaming myself for the shooting, for not seeing those guys in the police car until it was too late, Hutch has been doing the same thing. And one partner thinking he got the other partner hurt is difficult to deal with. We've both dealt with those emotions before. And _nobody_ does a guilt trip like Hutch.

I've got to say something, do something to let Hutch know that this wasn't his fault.

"Hutch." God, I can barely speak, but he hears me. He always hears me. Hutch turns around slowly.

"Yeah, Buddy?" He turns toward me, but avoids making eye contact.

"It's going to be okay," I say quietly, but hopefully with conviction.

Hutch locks eyes with me then.

"We're going to be okay." I say, and then I yawn. I don't really know what else to say. I'll just close my eyes, go to sleep, and hopefully when I wake up everything will be fine.

Hutch smiles slightly. "Yeah, Starsk. I know. Look, why don't you get some rest? I'm going to put on some dry clothes."

Even with my eyes closed, I know he's looking at me. Then I hear shuffling footsteps going toward the bathroom. I open my eyes slowly and watch as he picks up the duffle bag. God, he looks so tired.


End file.
